More cool points for whoever can name THAT gem. :)
This post is not about babies. So there. This post is about how if Darrick and I ever get divorced, it'll be over gas or schnitzel. I will now commence explaining the gas thing, but the schnitzel one is for another post.
We recently decided that it makes more sense for me to drive Darrick's car to work and him to drive mine. His gets better gas mileage, and my drive is about 3 times further than his, so it's a money-saving move.
Rewind two weeks. I'm getting ready to leave for work in the morning, and the night before we had decided we'd switch back and I would drive the Party Wagon that day. The thing you should know is that right now I am picking Luca up from daycare so Darrick can coach wrestling. This means I have to leave work at 4 on the dot, which also means I need to GET to work at 7 on the dot. No time in the morning for dawdling or running errands. So, this particular morning, I am about to leave, and I grab the Party Wagon keys, and Darrick mentions, off-handedly, "Oh, you'll need to get gas." Now, under normal circumstances, I would be mildly annoyed but it would be no big deal. But the pressure to get to work on time combined with a fierce cold that had hit me 2 days before threw me over the edge. I believe my response went something like this:
"Daaaarrick! Are you serious?!?! You're serious?!?!? You KNEW I was going to drive today and you KNEW I wouldn't have 10 minutes to stop for gas. WHY do you let the tank get empty anyhow???? It's time to be responsible. You know, would it hurt you to go out of your way to take care of things like that for me??? If you REALLY loved me, you would fill my gas tank up so I didn't have to worry. That's what NICE husbands do! NICE husbands don't spring this shit on their wives at 6 a.m.! Thanks for NOTHING!"
:::insert major pout and cue music from Psycho's shower scene:::
Anyhow....I ended up driving his car and we were fine, but this story gives us some context for the following humbling tale.
Tuesday afternoon, I have a meeting and I fully plan on leaving from it to go home. It will end about 3:15, and there's no point going all the way back to my office just to turn around and leave right away. I'm excited. I gloat to Darrick about how I'll be leaving early and isn't it wonderful that I'll be able to get Luca early and HOORAY! Seriously.....nothing makes me more happy than the prospect of getting off work early.
So, the meeting ends at 3:15, and I practically skip to the car. I turn the radio on and put the windows down (because, you know, it's finally below 90 degrees now that it's almost Thanksgiving) and am SO happy to be heading home. I look at the gas gauge and think "Eh, I have enough gas to get home."
You know where this is going, right?
Turns out, I did NOT, in fact, have enough gas to get home. A fact that I was saddened and embarassed to realize only AFTER going up the ramp of the freeway, wondering why the car was not wanting to shift into third gear, panicking wildly, steering over to the shoulder, and almost crying as the car stuttered to a stop.
SHIT. What to do, what to do????
My first thought was to call Darrick, but then I remembered his cell phone was lost and he was in practice anyhow so even if he HAD his phone he wouldn't hear it ring.
My second thought: call work. So I call, and I get ahold of them, and explain where I am. My VERY kind co-worker calls AAA to see if she can use her membership to have them come bring me gas. No dice. They tell me they will figure out what to do and call me back.
I hang up, and call Darrick's school. They tell me they will page him and to please hold. 3 minutes later, they tell me he's not answering the page, sorry. I calmly (or, you know, maybe NOT so calmly) explain that I am broken down on the FREEWAY and supposed to get our baby from daycare, and I really really pretty please with sugar on top need to get ahold of him somehow. The woman says she'll send security out to see if they're at the track running, and can she please get my cell phone number to call me back. Even in mid-panic, I am mildly amused that she thinks my husband won't know my cell #, but too grateful to laugh.
So, what does one do when stranded on the freeway with no idea who will pick her baby up or who will rescue her? Well, in this case, one calls her friend in Chicago and talks about what said friend will wear to a Junior League event that weekend, and whether friend should choose the ballet flat or the ballet flat with the Mary Jane strap. (More cool points for anyone who can tie that in the post title.) Thanks for keeping me occupied, friend.
So, fast forward....my OTHER wonderful co-worker brought me some gas and Darrick called me back and left practice to pick up Luca.
It all worked out in the end, but you better believe I am STILL hearing about it from Darrick. When I got home, he actually said to me, "I'm not mad at you anymore." Uh....mad at me? What?
Yes, apparently at one point in all this hullabaloo, he was pissed that I ran out of gas. And this, friends, is why gasoline may some day lead us to divorce.
Again....remind me later to explain schnitzel and it's potential role in our marriage's demise.